


5 things that never happened to House and Wilson +1 that did

by everybodylies



Category: House M.D.
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybodylies/pseuds/everybodylies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of ways it could have ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 things that never happened to House and Wilson +1 that did

1.

House and Cuddy’s five year anniversary party is a small affair. Just a few friends and even fewer family.

House probably hadn’t wanted a party at all, if Wilson knows him well enough. But here he is, dressed nicely—well, as close to nicely that House would ever get—and making small talk. Small talk!

_She’s changed him. In a way you never could._

Wilson watches from across the room as House and Cuddy take a break from their hosting duties to share an intimate moment in the corner. Cuddy takes a big gulp of champagne (thinking about her mother, no doubt) and House smiles. An eight-year old Rachel wanders over and House ruffles her hair absentmindedly.

Most people would think that Wilson’s not the jealous type. He’s spent so much of his life trying to help other people have happy lives, so why would he be upset when they finally get there? But in this moment, staring into a tableau of familial bliss, that’s what Wilson feels.

He knows he should be thankful. Thankful that after years of pain and misery, his best friend is actually happy. But all Wilson can think about is the fact that he’ll be going home to an apartment that will never truly belong to him, with only the ghost of a woman to fill his bed. Didn’t he deserve happiness, too? He’d always treated women with respect, tried to be the best husband he could.

“What can I say?” House said, grinning sloppily during one of their late night drinking sessions (which were becoming increasingly rare these days). “Girls love the bad boys.”

House catches Wilson staring and tilts his head toward the kitchen, raising his eyebrow. _Meet me out back for a beer?_ Wilson nods and smiles wanly. He wonders if House can tell what he’s thinking. But that’s stupid. He can always tell.

House nods back, then returns his attention to Cuddy, and Wilson realizes with a start, exactly five years too late, that perhaps there isn’t another _woman_ out there for him.

 

2.

It’s when he looks at Amber’s toned and naked body laying stretched out next to him and he doesn’t feel aroused at all, that it finally hits him that he’s done something very, very wrong.

House stares, unseeing, at his fidgeting toes. Amber’s head is lying on his outstretched arm. “Wilson is gonna hate me,” he says, feeling numb.

“Well, you kind of deserve it,” she answers dryly, looking at him with mild amusement.

He turns to face her. “I thought you loved him,” he says.

Rolling her eyes, she runs a cold finger down his chest and drawls, “Who needs love when you got chemistry?”

Dread is a cold lump in his stomach. He can see two possible ways this could turn out. One, Wilson will be horribly, horribly angry, and it will be a miracle if he ever forgives House. Or, two, Wilson is a doormat and he doesn’t get mad, only berates himself for thinking that a relationship with a House look-alike would ever turn out well. And, for some unnameable reason, he likes the second option even less than the first.

Amber hands him another condom, and House, pushing everything to the back of his mind, figures that if he’s already dug himself into a hole, he might as well enjoy himself.

“You’re gonna hire me back after this, right?” Amber asks.

 

3.

“You know what your problem is, Greg?” House's father had told him once, long ago. “You just don't know how lucky you are.” And only now, now that the world has already fallen apart, does he allow himself to consider the possibility that his father just might have been right.

Todd, his parole officer, comes on a Tuesday. Taub and Adams are in the clinic, Park is napping on the couch, and House is waiting in his office, one last case file open on his desk. One last mystery to pass the time.

When Todd pushes the door open, his expression is filled with disappointment. No surprise, just tired disappointment, like he’d somehow known that House was going to violate his parole by stuffing a book of New Jersey Devils season tickets down a toilet. Like he’d expected nothing less.

“You gonna cuff me now?”

Todd glances at the cane. “It can wait.” He jerks his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”

On his way out, House pounds his fist against the glass of the outer office, waking Park. “Hey, you. The file on my desk. It’s Korsakoff’s.”

Park’s eyes are immediately wide with panic. “I’ll-I’ll get Wilson!” she blurts out, completely missing the point.

“Korsakoff’s,” he repeats uselessly.

He and Todd make their way down to the car in front of the hospital, but Todd doesn’t cuff him. Not yet. He gives House a pitying smile. He knows; Foreman had probably had a talk with him. They wait until Wilson comes outside, jogging breathlessly.

Todd prods him forward. “You got five minutes,” he says. Lucky, lucky.

Wilson talks a lot, about nothing at all. House is quiet.

There are a lot of things left unsaid. Things that can’t be said into an old payphone, or across a glass partition in a prison visiting room.

When the five minutes are up, House looks at Wilson and says, “See you when I get out.”

Mouth tight, Wilson nods. “I’ll see you.”

He doesn’t.

 

4.

House’s right hand jerks, and the cup of water sitting on the armrest falls to the ground and spills.

“House!” Wilson scolds, out of habit. Then he remembers. He quickly mops up the water with a towel. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he mutters.

After cleaning it all up, he puts a hand on House’s knee. “Sorry for yelling.”

House doesn’t respond. He never does. Hasn’t since the deep brain stimulation. A spot of drool appears in the corner of his mouth, and Wilson wipes it away.

“Sorry for everything,” Wilson continues, filling up the silence. “Sorry.”

 _Stop apologizing, Wilson. You're being a doormat._ The words come to him so forcefully, so vividly, and Wilson chokes up.

He feels someone put a hand on his back, and his heart skips a beat. Then comes Amber’s voice. “Hey,” she says softly. “Is everything okay?” He glances back at House, who hasn’t moved.

Back when all of this was just starting, Wilson had known that one day he would have to choose. But, _God_ , not like _this_.

Slowly, Wilson stands up. “Just spilled some water,” he says.

 

5.

“Nice speech.”

House closes his eyes. “Idiot,” he mutters under his breath. He shouldn’t have been so caught off guard. There’s an important talk on pediatric oncology scheduled for tomorrow, so of course, _he_ would be here, too. House clutches his paper plate tighter and doesn’t look up, just keeps grabbing slices of fruit from the spread in front of him.

“Please pass my compliments on to whichever one of your employees wrote it,” the voice continues.

 _Johnson_ , House thinks, knee-jerk.

“House,” Wilson says. “Can you please look at me?”

House keeps his eyes pointed downwards, as he struggles to pick up a particularly slippery slice of ham with some flimsy tongs. At some point, he just gives up and grabs the food with his fingers. He hears Wilson’s disapproving sigh, but Wilson doesn’t say anything, which means he wants something.

“House…”

“ _What_ ,” he snaps. He jerks his head up, and Wilson seems slightly taken aback at the force of his glare. Good.

“I… can we talk?” There’s gray in Wilson’s hair now. He looks softer around the edges now, more tired.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” House replies. Then he turns on his heel and starts limping back toward his assigned table.

Wilson easily catches up to him, grabbing at his arm.

“Come on, House. We were friends for ten years. Why can’t we just catch up?”

House sneers. “‘We’re not friends, anymore. I’m not sure we ever were.’ Sound familiar?”

“I—” Wilson falters, shoulders slumped. He puts his hands in his pockets. “I thought, it’s been so long, maybe—”

“Maybe what? You’d stop blaming me for everything that went wrong in your pathetic, miserable life?”

Wilson’s face hardens. “Can’t we talk like adults?”

“It’s like you were never even friends with me,” House scoffs, walking away.

 

+1.

The sun is strong, the air is warm, and Wilson is just at that border between sleeping and wakefulness, when something hits him in the face. Wilson ignores it. He digs his fingers deeper into the fine sand and keeps his eyes closed.

Again, something hits him in the face. He opens his eyes and lifts up his sunglasses. Two one dollar bills, wadded up, sit on his bare chest. He unwads them and tries the flatten the creases.

“Please stop. I’m an oncologist, not a stripper.”

“Good God, man, is that how you give money to strippers? You’ve been doing it wrong this whole time!” House says, scandalized. Then he tosses some more bills at Wilson. “I need you to go buy me a hot dog.”

Wilson gapes at his friend. “I have cancer,” he says. “Do it yourself.”

“Cripple beats cancer,” House insists.

“Does not.”

“Does too!” Wilson shakes his head, and House waves his cane in the air. “On the beach? The _sand_? Does too!”

Wilson stands up and extends a hand down to House. “Come on, we’ll go together.”

House rolls his eyes and grumbles to himself for a moment before he allows himself to be pulled to his feet. He puts a hand on Wilson’s shoulder, leaning heavily, and all of a sudden, Wilson feels a rush of warmth that leaves him dizzy.

“I’m glad you’re here, House,” Wilson says.

“You’re such a fucking sap, Wilson,” House says, fond.


End file.
